16th century Caribbean


Mel book cover #1
What’s a girl going to do when she wants adventure in her life, and men have all the fun? Melaynie Morgan is an independent-minded young woman in Plymouth, England, but it’s the 16th century, and women are expected to dress elaborately and attend to womanly duties. Forget about doublets, swords and sailing ships.Melaynie refuses to let her conventional background deter her. She disguises herself as a captain’s boy and signs on with privateer Francis Drake to plunder Spanish treasure in the exotic Caribbean. In the chess game of Renaissance politics it’s an undeclared war of opposing religions, but Queen Elizabeth’s Protestant England and King Philip’s Catholic Spain are maintaining a guarded peace. Into that mix comes Plymouth’s Drake, waging his own private war with Spain.

Melaynie finds more than she bargained for during her year in the tropics serving Drake – from disease, death and danger to a romance with a Spaniard and a friendship with an ex-slave. She returns to England wiser but secretly pregnant.  Melaynie’s daughter Joan grows up unaware of her true parentage until the Spanish Armada brings a bittersweet and surprising reunion. To order these books, go to Amazon — the link is in red on the top right of this page – Amazon Publications by Victoria Giraud.

An Army Brat in Libya Ebook cover

An Army Brat in Libya Ebook cover

An Army Brat in Libya is a memoir chronicling the adventures of living in Tripoli in the 1950s. World War II was over and the world could breathe again for a while. Libya was ruled by King Idris, and the US Military held sway at strategic Wheelus Air Force Base. Attending high school amidst sand and palm trees, camels and donkeys, in a small cosmopolitan city along the Mediterranean was about as unique and full of contrasts as an American teen could get in the mild 1950s.

American teenagers sported jeans while Libyan women were covered from head to foot. Americans brought their cars; most Libyans rode bicycles. Despite the differences, East and West cohabited peacefully for the most part. It’s a new century today, but the American military still has a presence in these exotic areas of the world.

Weird Dates and Strange Fates#1

Weird Dates and Strange Fates features two unusual but true short stories. Sandy’s blind date serves her brunch while wearing a French maid’s costume, a blond wig and 4-inch heels in A Single Girl’s Guide to Cross-Dressing. She’s even more puzzled when he changes to a G-string and a lacy negligee. In The Dark Side, Barbara meets her perfect man, but one day he disappears from his apartment, leaving a downloaded computer and all his business attire behind. She could hardly believe the secret he was hiding.

Pink Glasses

The divorcees in the chic Los Angeles bar/restaurant were attracted to Will’s spirited zaniness, which mixed well with his gentle nature. They had no idea what mental turmoil it masked. He was a Viet Nam vet, a Navy pilot, and far from rich. Will had to rent a room from one of his new friends, yet he bought a brand new Porsche and kept his old one. What was he concealing?


The following is an excerpt from my historical adventure/romance Melaynie’s Masquerade. To purchase as an Ebook or as a softcover, go to Amazon:



Melaynie’s Masquerade on Amazon


Diego had seen Melaynie leave by herself that morning, her cheeks rosy, a distant but peaceful look in her eyes. He was pleased his young friend was taking some time to be by herself; she had worked as hard as the men in building the fort. His contented thoughts were jarred a short time later when he saw Jerome saunter out the stockade gate, a lascivious look upon his scarred face.

The merry little stream washed over Melaynie’s dappled sunlit body, caressing her erect nipples, flowing through her legs, cleansing the sounds from her ears. It was so soothing she failed to hear the snap of wood or the rough sigh.

Jerome stood on the stream bank, his good eye riveted by the sight of tiny breasts floating on the water, glistening in the flashes of sunshine. The curly blond pubic hair clearly hid no male genitalia. It was a surprise he would never have imagined. The boy had always seemed just a bit too feminine, but no matter. He’d just as soon stick his cock in one hole as another. It would provide excitement of a sort he hadn’t bargained for, and this time she didn’t have her knife on her. Perhaps he could frighten her into giving it up to him whenever he wanted, especially if he threatened to divulge her secret. His mouth hung open as if he were contemplating a meal to be devoured, as he quickly slid out of his breeches.

The sucking sounds of a foot in mud and the splash of a body entering water finally alerted Melaynie. She righted herself and let go of the branch, but it was too late. Jerome was in the water and reaching for her breasts.

“So, this is what ye’ve been hiding from me, Christopher,” Jerome sneered as he grabbed her, twisting her nipples. His breath was foul and his jagged teeth looked rotten.

She grimaced in outraged anger as she tried to hit him, but he laughed at her efforts. Although the water was not deep, the soft, slippery stream bottom kept her off balance. He pinned her arms as his wet open mouth clamped down on a nipple. She opened her mouth and lowered her head to bite at his thinning dirty hair, and when she had some in her mouth, pulled back as strongly as she could. Her feet found a solid place, and she drew her knee up and slammed it into him quickly. He stumbled backwards to protect his genitals, and the knee caught him on the chin.

“Ye want a fight, do ye?” he laughed derisively rubbing his hairy chin, his walleye askew while the other glared in lust. He had not lost his balance and lunged at her again, this time firmly catching her pubis with his long-fingered hand.

She shuddered with revulsion and twisted her body around and out of his grasp, throwing him off-balance. Neither of them heard the first ominous sounds of something heavy sliding into the water from the opposite bank.


Mel book cover #1
Writing a book is a fascinating process, a great deal of it unconscious. While you’re in the act of creation, you’re thinking about the story, planning how you’re going to do it, making notes, maybe using index cards for the various scenes. In my case, since I wrote an historical fiction novel, I needed to do lots of research into the 16th century, a process I enjoyed. The Internet wasn’t the effective tool it is today and I used libraries for most of my research.

When I needed to describe a 16th century ship or the variety of clothing worn then, I headed for the children’s section of bookstores (when there were lots of them) or libraries. Picture books were just the thing. I had to know how my heroine was going to accomplish her daring feat, how she would look, and what her family home looked like. The various Time-Life historical series were a great help; they always had lots of graphics. I’ve always been a history buff and had attended many a Renaissance Faire where I’d seen Queen Elizabeth and Sir Francis Drake in action, not to mention all the hired characters and faire-goers in costume.

It doesn’t take long before the story and its characters take control. You’re living with them in your head, so no wonder. Many authors verify that oddity. Behind-the-scenes, your subconscious and your own past mingles together in the ethers, at least that’s how I explain it. I did a lot of creating while I was swimming in a pool. Water was the best element to get my “flow” going, especially since I was devising a sea adventure.

I finished the book, after five years of creating, letting it lie dormant and then recreating. During one of my last readings/proofing of the book, I began to realize why many of my feelings had come forward, unconsciously, in the book. I had given my heroine a kindly, generous father and three brothers who spoiled her. She needed one brother’s help to fulfill her dream adventure of sailing with Francis Drake on one of his early voyages to the Caribbean.

My stepfather, the US Army officer who raised me, was a very thrifty taskmaster. He saved his charm mostly for others, his strong sense of discipline for the family. It was comforting for me to create an imaginary father, who spoiled my heroine! What fun it was to write about a heroine who, despite the ups and downs, succeeds in her adventure! In inventing Melaynie’s part of the story, I found actual history made it easy to manipulate and blend real facts with my imagination.  I thoroughly enjoyed reading an excellent biography about the clever and daring Francis Drake before I started on my project, and made sure his part of the story was accurate.

I’ve always been an adventurer, but certainly not as bold as my heroine, Melaynie. Of course, she has many of my traits—how could she not! Her feminist ideas and determination were mostly mine, but I wasn’t consciously creating them in the book. All these factors snuck up on me! Or did they?



Those readers who check my blog regularly will know that I’ve edited over 100 books for authors in all genres. I’ve written an historical fiction novel, Melaynie’s Masquerade, a screenplay, Drake, and six short books, including An Army Brat in Libya.  I like to share preview tidbits to entice you to read my work, (available on Amazon–a link on this blog) and that’s what I’m presenting this time.

I’ve always enjoyed historical fiction and became enchanted with the 16th century some years ago when I attended Southern California Renaissance Faires. My fictional character, Melaynie Morgan, lives in Plymouth, England, and when she decides to turn her traditional world upside down, she embarks on a sailing adventure with Francis Drake, a daring Plymouth captain. Drake is sailing to the Caribbean to plunder Spanish treasure; thinking he has met an enthusiastic young boy, he hires Melaynie as his cabin boy. What a masquerade she accomplishes before Drake and his crew sail back to England a year later!

Mel bookw:compass 0



















Despite her disguise, Melaynie finds romance. The following is a scene from Chapter 51:

“My love, my love,” she murmured, pulling herself from his arms and his bed as she reached for her clothes in the small hours of the morning darkness.

“Melaynie,” he whispered sleepily and stroked her back. “What can I say or do?”

“There is nothing to say, Bernardino.” She loved saying his name in all its parts, like the beginning of a poem. She bit her lip to hold back tears or the feelings that might ultimately betray her. “Goodbye, my love.”

Except for the whizzing sounds of insects and the sounds of waves washing upon the not too distant shore, all was quiet in camp as she stepped quickly outside. Celebrators were long in bed or passed out where they had fallen from over-imbibing.

Their lovemaking had been so insistent and passionate that her limbs felt heavy. They were both sated, but their hours together would have to last a lifetime. She had spent her coin of emotion and feeling for now and felt numb. She dreaded the rush of desire and ache of love that she knew would return in force when she fully awoke in the morning. Worse yet, she would have to bid him goodbye in a casual fashion. It would be the ultimate test of her masquerade.

Robert did not wake when she crept in. Even if he had, she knew him to be an accepting, unquestioning man, not eager to pry into anyone’s private business. He had long ago made it clear that he did not wish to share what personal life he had left in England, nor was he interested in hers.

To find out how the book ends in Part 2, Melaynie’s Masquerade is available on Amazon.


When he continued to look at her with warmth and understanding, she hurried on, grateful she could talk frankly. “I do not fancy the killing and am sometimes fearful of the danger, but Captain Drake is not a cruel or violent man. Though we are not at war with Spain, England must do what she can to stay free from Spanish power. Our actions here in the Indies remind Spain that she does not rule all the world. Of course we will greatly profit from Spanish treasure, but so will our Queen.   Have I said too much? ‘Tis too late to change my words.  I do not feel I am with a Spanish enemy.” She stopped, embarrassed. She had said too much; why did she make such a fool of herself in front of him?

He laughed at her comment, charmed by her candid open manner and intelligent observations. “So you sense I am friend not foe? I could not tell for you would not speak to me these past days,” he teased.

She cleared her throat and gave a nervous giggle. What could she reply?

He said nothing for a few moments, letting his senses determine the mood and reveling in her company. “Will you give me your feminine name?”

She sighed and looked up into his kind handsome face. “Melaynie,” she whispered.

He smiled, gazing lovingly into her eyes. “A lovely name. You may desire a man’s experience, but I can tell you a woman’s role in life is the most valuable. And I can see you are a beautiful loving woman.” He took her hand from the rock, holding it between his hands on his lap.

“And your history?” she managed to stammer as she tried to calm her fluttering heart.

“I was born in Granada, once home to the Moors. My great-grandfather was a proud Moor, forced to convert to the Catholic Church when King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella conquered us,” he paused, struggling to contain his sorrows. “I can fathom why the Africans feel such hatred toward the Spanish and their forceful ways. But one must adapt or die.” He took a long breath and continued more brightly. “I have made a career serving King Philip, which brings me here to meet you. How fortunate I am, for I have met no Spanish girl with your daring…or charm.”

She did not know how to answer him, and was grateful the darkness hid her blush, and the fiery sensations traversing her entire body.

Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it softly. He placed her hand upon his shoulder and reached around her waist to draw her closer. A sigh escaped her lips, as she leaned toward him, putting her head upon his chest, taking in his intoxicating masculine smell. Moments later she drew back to gaze up at him and to read the love and passion in his eyes.

Their lips met, gently at first, savoring the salty-sweet taste of each other. Their lips parted as hungry desire took over, and the intensity of the kissing grew. Keeping one hand at her waist, his other hand tenderly traveled upwards to those small breasts he had once glimpsed in the candlelight. He pulled back to look at her. Her shirt was partly open, and she watched in anticipation as he delicately traced the hollow of her neck with his fingertips and then slid his hand down to the right breast. She drew in her breath and let out a small gasp as his fingers caressed the nipple to erection and then gently squeezed it.He repeated his erotic move with the other breast and nipple while it seemed to her that her blood was pulsing and vibrating as it traveled from between her legs down to the end of her toes. Throbbing with desire, she would let him have his way with her; a bolt of lightening would fail to stop her now.

There’s more to this scene, but you must buy the book on Amazon. The link is at the top of the blog page on the right.



Erotic Melaynie in the Caribbean by Victoria Giraud

Sex makes the world go round… Songs, books, movies, art, advertising, the media. There was a recent bidding war on the erotic e-book, Fifty Shades of Grey. Women can’t seem to get enough of it. I haven’t read it yet, but I want to remind my blog readers in search of some erotica and romance that I’ve published Melaynie’s Masquerade as an e-book on Amazon  http://amazon.com/author/victoriagiraud

Read my sample teaser below and see if it entices you to read more by ordering my book. It’s also in softcover.


With Drake’s humorous admonition to be careful with their guest, Melaynie carried a lantern to show Bernardino to his private tent at evening’s end. In the light of a bright moon, whose rays poured through the wide opening of the small quarters, Bernardino found and immediately sat down on the portable cot. Tired from the day’s excitement and mellowed to the point of sleepiness by the wine, he languidly watched as the young captain’s boy placed the lantern on an empty cask, thinking as he watched of his young sister.  Why was he thinking of his sister; was it the way this young boy moved, or simply the beauty of youth?  He leaned back and began to remove his doublet, welcoming the cooler night air on his skin.  Remembering the music and the caress of the night breeze, he felt relaxed and sensual.

Melaynie’s body and face were profiled in the moonlight.  What a lovely young boy, Bernardino reflected  as he studied the fine facial features and golden hair. He lazily watched the lantern’s flickering light, his feelings of arousal fanned by its glow. How agreeable it would have been to have a woman to love, an appropriate climax to a congenial evening.  Framed by the moonlight, the boy continued to stand, leaning toward the lantern, like a moth to the flame, his eyes mesmerized by the flame.

From his angle lounging on the cot, Bernardino noticed the boy’s cream-colored shirt had flared outward as he stood there. The material was diaphanous enough that the lantern’s light revealed his naked chest. Bernardino smiled at the pretty picture it made, and then narrowed his eyes, looking again closely, as he sat up slowly, uncertain that what he saw was true.  The lantern had highlighted a pair of delicate breasts, whose outline was clear enough through the linen shirt.

This was no boy; he saw the evidence. The breasts were small, but they were present. Had no one else in this English company noticed?  Men could be dense; he had seen how she had been treated as her costume defined her.  A turmoil of feelings assaulted him at this revelation, the excitement of the mystery of her only heightening his stimulated senses. He struggled to compose himself, to dampen his growing ardor, to quiet his racing mind. Had he been intrigued because some instinct told him of her true gender?  Whatever the mystical reasons, she must not guess he had seen her secret.

Searching his mind for clues, he quickly surmised her subterfuge had been well hidden until now and that she was probably older than he had supposed. What had caused this young woman to carry off this masquerade; was she possessed by some unusual traits, a woman who felt herself truly a man? Or was it simply an adventure she sought, a desire to break from the traditional female role in her society?  Did she feel he was a threat; was that why she had spilled the wine earlier? These turbulent thoughts raced through his mind in mere seconds.

Rss Feed Tweeter button Facebook button Technorati button Reddit button Myspace button Linkedin button Webonews button Delicious button Digg button Flickr button Stumbleupon button Newsvine button Youtube button